


If Men Had Wings

by orphan_account



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Dad Baze, Dad Chirrut, Falling In Love, First Meeting, Fluff, Future Fic, Happy Ending, M/M, mentions of Jyn/Cassian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-03-16 02:36:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13626786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Chirrut let out a trembling breath, then turned his face up.  One hand came up, touching Baze on the side of his face.  His fingers scratched at his whiskers.  “I think you’ll need to kiss me until the feeling passes.”Baze chuckled again, low in his throat, voice tight with an affection he hoped would never go away.  He tugged Chirrut even closer with a hand at his waist, then pinched his chin to turn his face up.  “I think I can do that,” he murmured.





	If Men Had Wings

**Author's Note:**

> So this is probably one of my all time favorite ships, and I have some plague so I'm stuck in bed avoiding this horrible essay I have to write on Marx and this just sort of happened.

His hands shook, more from nerves than from the swaying train as it curved through the final hill before recaching the small seaside town. He gripped his phone, trying not to push the button to turn the screen on, because he’d stared at the photo of Jyn and Cassian smiling for as long as he could stand it, and nothing was going to change the past, and very little would change the trajectory of the future.

He wanted to blame his ex, wanted to blame the divorce—the financial pressure it put on him to provide, the job demanding more than just his hours, more than just his presence, but pieces of his soul. He’d never get that back either, and deep down, and through the hours upon hours of therapy, he’d come to understand and accept it had been a choice he’d made. Because there had been a thousand choices, a thousand paths he could have taken.

But the money had been good, and his ex’s words rang in his head the day of their divorce, “She’d be better off with a check in the mail every month than having to deal with all your issues.”

She’d said it to be cruel. He knew that now. But he’d been so broken back then, still dealing with his past, still reeling from his inability to get well enough to make his marriage _work_ , and even the sweet, smiling face of their daughter didn’t change that.

So Lyra moved on and remarried and Baze left the country and did exactly as Lyra had asked. He worked, he dedicated himself to things he didn’t want to think about anymore, and he’d sent a check.

He quit checking in when Jyn was five.

When the hole in his heart had grown big enough to consume him, he’d come back to find that Lyra and her new husband had been killed in an accident when Jyn was seven. Two years. Two precious, short years she’d had left with her mother before it had been ripped away. Baze had been in too deep, his clearance too high.

No one could find him, so she’d been shipped off to foster home after foster home and at fourteen, she’d gone missing.

At sixteen she’d turned up on his doorstep tethered to a social worker, a chip on her shoulder a mile wide. Their relationship now was tentative, fragile, prone to crumbling though he clung on with his gnarled hands and aching knuckles.

Only she was nineteen now, and off to college and living with her boyfriend who had proposed with shining promises and a big ring, and an age gap that made Baze’s stomach twist. But Cassian had a past, and Baze understood it was only a person like that who would truly be able to make it work because Jyn needed someone who understood her. Who had a rap sheet at least three pages long to match her four.

And Baze couldn’t deny the happiness on her face—the way she’d sent him a screen shot of her GPA with the shining 3.6 there and a tone of disbelief in her text like she never truly believed in herself. And for that, he would carry the guilt to his grave, because there had been seven years he could have done something, and he let himself make the choices he made to keep him away.

He couldn’t take a moment of credit for the woman she had become, he could only be grateful she was allowing him to be part of this.

The empty nest hit him hard—and he supposed maybe it would be harder if he’d had her all nineteen years, but he’d just gotten used to the idea of living with someone, and feeling like he could be a part of something when it was gone again.

So he took his neighbor up on the offer to check out the little seaside resort fifty miles outside of Jedha City, at the coast they forgot even existed, with the rolling desert hills of his birthplace. The little resort town didn’t have much, when he perused the website. One chain hotel, one B&B where he’d booked his own room. Four restaurants, only two that served dinner, and a string of tourist shops along the beach which was heavy with rocks and sand.

It was just outside of tourist season, and Baze wasn’t quite sure yet whether or not the ghost town vibe was going to be better or worse for him. Whatever the case, he was there, on the train with his suitcase by his feet, and ready to take a full two weeks to himself.

\--- --- ---

Checking in was easy enough, the woman at the little desk in the B&B was accommodating and gave Baze a room on the ground floor since his knees had spent too many years taking the brunt of his work, and his left one had been ravaged by gunfire that even a single set of stairs up to a landing was too much. The downstairs room didn’t have the view he paid for, but the bed was huge, and there was an en suite bathroom with a low, lying tub that tempted even him into a long soak.

For the moment, he merely tipped his suitcase next to the bed, and sat down at the edge of the mattress. He was here, and he had no direct purpose for the next fourteen days, and that was almost overwhelming.

In the end, he decided on a walk to the shore, which was dim, the fog rolling in heavy off the water, though it looked at least an hour or so from shore. It was surreal in a way the desert was, how the land could change so drastically from the red-yellow sands of Jedha City to this, like a tiny oasis hidden by the only, rolling green hills in the area.

He managed to find a mostly flat rock, sandy and pounded down by years of tide and weather, and he sat, letting his gaze soften as he stared out over the hazy water. A few minutes in, he snapped a photo and sent it to Jyn with a short text.

_Wish you were here. Maybe you and your boyfriend can check this place out sometime. It’s romantic. Quiet. No kids._

He got a reply a few minutes later, and on the walk back, he found himself smiling.

**Thanks dad. It’s almost like you know me! Haha. Have a great trip, talk to you soon. xo**

\--- --- --- 

It wasn’t that Baze didn’t appreciate the fact that his room came with home prepared meals, and he didn’t want to disappoint the woman who was clearly working to impress him and only him—the single guest for that week, but after two days, he was fairly sure he’d cry if he saw another pile of sausage, gravy, and powdery biscuits.

So he excused himself, saying his stomach wasn’t feeling great, and he needed a morning walk. There were a handful of restaurants not far off, and during one of his late evening jaunts, he swore he’d smelled fresh baked bread, which told him there was probably a bakery somewhere nearby.

The morning was cold in the way it only got by the coast, with the breeze picking up an icy tinge and salt. It whipped through his hair which sat long, the way he’d worn it since he left _them_ , and he huffed, pulling a small black tie from his wrist to curl it in a bun at the nape of his neck. He pulled his jacket up high, but appreciated the way the bite of the breeze kept him alert. He didn’t smell the bread again, and none of the places looked appetizing until he found a small coffee cart perched in the parking lot of a closed bank.

It was one of those trendy deals, an old style caravan looking thing with a dome top and a wide window. The menu was in chalk, leaning up against the side, and Baze could see a younger man moving around. There was no line, so he approached carefully and read over the menu.

It was simple, nothing fancier than a mocha, but the pastries were all Jedhan and all authentic looking. There was a small, glass dome covering the white, puffy sweets which if made right, he knew would taste like almond and coconut, and would melt on his tongue the way they had when he was a kid and talked his mother into buying him a few when he’d bene good at the market.

He startled when a face popped into the window, and he wasn’t entirely surprised to see a hipster-looking guy with a long pony tail and the wispy start of a beard which would probably fill out with age. By the look of him, he was Jedhan too, which made Baze feel at least a little bit more confident about what he was about to purchase.

“Would you happen to have any Tarine tea?” he asked in his native tongue. It wasn’t on the menu, but he supposed this was the real test.

The guy’s eyes widened, then he laughed. “Yeah, man. Milky blend?”

“Please. And extra hot.” He couldn’t stop the corners of his mouth from lifting up. He threw in a couple of pastries, some for now, some for the road, and then handed over cash when the guy passed his over-hot, paper to-go cup.

He was making change when Baze took a long sip, and then burst out laughing when he saw the man’s face. “You don’t like it!”

Baze shrugged, sipping it again, unable to contain his grimace. “It’s foul.”

The guy handed over the change, then leaned on the window, resting on his forearms. “So why?”

“Because it’s here, and I’m…missing home,” Baze admitted. He licked his lips, then sighed. “I didn’t think I’d find anything like this here.”

“That’s why my dad set this up,” the guy said.

Baze glanced him over again and saw a small nametag hanging off the edge of his apron. **Bodhi**. 

“He said the least he can do is offer people a little bit of culture.”

“You didn’t grow up here, though,” Baze pointed out. Bodhi’s accent was still heavy enough it gave him away as foreign to this little resort town.

Bodhi shook his head. “Nah. Jedha City, but we used to come out here when my mom was sick and then after she…” He hesitated. “Dad just kind of liked it, I guess. Everyone here thinks he’s eccentric and weird.”

Baze lifted a brow. “Why’s that?”

“Because he _is_ eccentric and weird,” Bodhi replied, then laughed. “If you walk about half a mile that way,” he jutted his chin toward the east, “you’ll probably find him in the little park having long, poetic conversations with a murder of crows. He swears they talk back.”

“Maybe they do,” Baze mused, mostly just to see the exasperated look on Bodhi’s face. The boy reminded him of Jyn in that way—the young generation torn between modern society and their old, traditional parents. He could only hope Bodhi didn’t have the same experiences as Jyn. “Are you in school.”

Bodhi rubbed the back of his neck. “Ah. I was accepted to Coruscant University but I didn’t…I’m…I thought maybe a gap year was the best idea.”

Baze knew exactly what that meant. He remembered the way he felt when his father had died, and his mother had insisted she’d be fine if he left but…the ache, the _worry_ , kept him behind a lot longer than he meant to stay. “My daughter goes there,” Baze said instead of all that. “She loves it. When you do go, I’m sure you will too.”

Bodhi grinned at him. “Thanks.” He gave the side of the caravan a little pat, then stepped back. “I have to get back to fixing the espresso machine, but if you see my dad, tell him to pick up some mango from the market on his way back. We’re out and that single mom yoga group always comes by for smoothies at eleven.”

Baze frowned. “How will I know if I see him?”

Bodhi simply laughed. “Trust me. You’ll know.”

\--- --- ---

Baze doubted the young kid for only as long as it took to follow the side walk, curving along the boardwalk until it dipped into a neighborhood and opened up to a park. And there he saw a man in the middle of the grass, tall and thin, shaved head, sitting with his knees to his chest as he prattled away to four crows who were pecking something from the ground.

Every so often, the man would reach into his pocket and pull something out, and fling it to the ground. Seed, probably.

Baze contemplated turning on his heel and walking the other way. He wasn’t here to make friends. But there was something compelling about him, and maybe it was the solidarity of knowing someone from where he came from—a someone who might understand Baze in a way no one else in this little town could. Or maybe it was knowing that he’d be gone in two weeks so it wouldn’t really matter in the end anyway.

But he found himself walking forward, his feet sinking into the dewy grass. The man didn’t look up or look over at all, but when Baze was close enough, he could see the man’s face relaxed in a smile.

“Have you come to chat with the crows, or did my son send you to pester me about the mango?”

Baze felt his cheeks heat up, almost like he was a child being scolded for cheating on a test. “Your son seemed to think that my ordering Taurine tea at your cart meant you’d take the reminder a bit more…kindly than if it was someone else.”

At that, the man perked up, and turned. The look of him made Baze feel a host of complicated things. He was strikingly attractive, his features sharper cut than his own, his smile wide, a little gummy above his teeth, and brighter than the sun. And his eyes, wide and crinkled with the grin, were milky white and blind. It took Baze only a second to notice the white cane in the grass beside his knee.

“Your ordered my tea.”

Baze huffed. “Yes. It was as foul as I remember it being, but…I couldn’t help myself.”

“Homesick,” the man replied, then he pat the grass next to him, and against his better judgement, Baze found himself hunkering down. His worn bones, muscles, and tendons didn’t entirely appreciate the drop onto the ground, but he let out only a faint grunt of discomfort as he did so. “The pastry are delicious though.”

“My father’s recipe,” the man said. He hesitated, then stuck his hand out slightly to Baze’s left. “I’m Chirrut Îmwe.”

Baze took his hand, taking a minute of pleasure in the feel of his warm skin, soft in some places, calloused in others. “Baze Malbus. I’m staying at the B&B.”

Chirrut’s smile widened a little. “We live not far from there. I know the owner. Mon. She’s also the mayor here in Yavin.”

Baze’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know that. She was…very nice.”

“She keeps feeding you biscuits and gravy.” It wasn’t a question, and at Baze’s silence, Chirrut tipped his head back and laughed. “I see why you needed the escape.”

Baze shrugged, then realized that gesture was lost on the other man, and said, “It’s not so bad. Just different from what I’m used to.”

“You don’t sound like you’ve lived in Jedha City all your life,” Chirrut pointed out.

Baze felt strangely naked at the admission, and he ducked his head slightly, staring down at his feet. “I…traveled a lot when I was younger. For work.” He didn’t want to elaborate. Wouldn’t have been able to even if he had. “I only recently came back.”

Chirrut hummed in thought, then reached into his pocket and flung a handful of the seed into the grass. A few more crows flew down, and after watching then for a while, one hopped up, pecking gently at the side of Chirrut’s pants. Chirrut’s smile softened, and he held out his hand, palm up, and the crow dropped something into it before flying off.

Baze couldn’t help himself, peering over to see what Chirrut was turning over in his fingers.

A marble.

“Do they…do that a lot?”

“It is only humans who fail to remember the basics of simple gratitude,” Chirrut said, then reached over and held it out.

“Oh. No I couldn’t, that was a gift,” Baze protested.

Chirrut’s hand didn’t budge. “Basics of gratitude. This morning was made far less lonely than it’s been in quiet some time. Most humans might have forgotten, Baze Malbus, but I have not.”

Baze cupped his hand under Chirrut’s, the tips of his fingers brushing the other man’s skin to let him know he’d done it. When the marble dropped into his palm, the weight of it was both impossibly light, and heavy like he was holding the entire world.

\--- --- --- 

For the next three mornings, the coffee and pastry cart wasn’t anywhere to be found. When Baze inquired with one of the restaurants over a plate of over-cooked scrambled eggs, the man just waved his hand and said, “That weirdo sets up only a few days a week.”

Baze bristled, wanted to stand up and challenge the man to a fist fight for Chirrut’s honor because strange or not, he was one of the best people Baze had come across in a long time. But he was a stranger here, and it wasn’t his place. And something told him Chirrut probably didn’t appreciate people fighting battles for him. Baze wouldn’t spend a moment doubting that Chirrut was perfectly capable of taking on ten men at once, if he chose to do it.

He stabbed his eggs a little forcefully though, finished only half the plate before leaving, and promised himself he wouldn’t be back.

\--- --- --- 

Two more days passed, and nothing.

\--- --- --- 

And then Baze saw him on the beach. Both of them, Bodhi and Chirrut, were there. Chirrut was walking along the shore, meandering back and forth with bare feet being occasionally touched by the push and pull of the tide. Bodhi was near the jetty, one knee curled up with a sketch book, and he looked lost in his world for a minute.

Baze hovered near the entrance to the beach, feet tingling like they were urging him to take his shoes off and shuffle out onto the sand, but he waited. Several moments passed, then Bodhi looked up and his face fell into a soft smile.

“Baba! Your stranger friend is here.”

Baze’s entire face heated up, and he ducked his head, strangely embarrassed as Chirrut turned and waved. He wasn’t close to waving in Baze’s direction, but Baze still felt the gesture like it was physical, and then he did kick out of his shoes and wade onto the sand.

He avoided the rocks which were every few feet, and felt a little freer when he got to the stretch of sand leading to the water. He took his time, but Chirrut seemed to know right when he approached, because he held out a hand, and when Baze was close enough, curled his long fingers around Baze’s upper arm.

“I was hoping someone might want to come on a walk with me today. Bodhi’s lost in his art again.” He said it with the fond exasperation only a father could possess, and Baze felt a wave of kinship and then a wave of guilt for how long he’d suppressed those feelings toward Jyn.

They started off in the opposite direction to where Bodhi was sitting, and Baze swung his head around briefly and nodded when Bodhi gave them a quick wave, then went back to his drawing. Their pace was slow, the world around the quiet in spite of the gentle turmoil of the sea, and Chirrut’s hand on his arm was very, very warm.

“You’re a father,” Chirrut said after some time.

Baze startled, then cleared his throat. “Ah. Yes. She just went off to college.”

Chirrut sighed, which was a far cry from his usual, eager smiles. “Bodhi was accepted, but he’s afraid to leave. He says it’s for me, but…I think it’s mostly for himself.”

Baze frowned. “How so?”

“Losing his mother was a lot. He stopped doing most things that made him happy, and he…” Chirrut stopped, and Baze didn’t press the issue because this was neither of their story to tell. “He’s been better. But I understand his fear.”

Baze didn’t know what to say, so he reached up and squeezed Chirrut’s hand for a second.

Chirrut laughed. “Normally as a blind man, I prefer when my companions are vocal. But I can read you like a book, Baze Malbus. Braille, in my case.”

Baze couldn’t help a tiny huff of laughter. “I’ve never been much of a talker.”

“Which surprises me not at all. Tall, dark, handsome, silent type. I would have fallen in love at first sight in my younger years.”

Baze flushed all the way down to his toes, and with a boldness that surprised him, said, “Only in your younger years?”

Chirrut laughed again, and tugged Baze just a step closer. “Well you see, life robbed me of youth, and with that, sight. Then it gave me heartbreak, and then it taught me caution. But my crows like you, Baze Malbus.”

“Why do you say my name like that?” Baze asked, a little breathless as Chirrut’s hand wandered down his arm, over his wrist, to link their fingers together. Baze suspected that all along, Chirrut didn’t really need a guide.

Chirrut just grinned at him. “I like the way it rolls off the tongue. Baze Malbus. Familiar, like I’ve been meaning to say it all my life.” Baze had no response for that, so Chirrut just squeezed his fingers a little tighter. “I suppose I have years to make up for it.”

It was outrageous to consider it. Baze was a tourist, here for two weeks. He was a hardened veteran with more metal in his body than bone. He was divorced, and a former write-in parent, and he’d fucked up so much in his life. Did he truly want to risk fucking up this man? This beautiful man?

“I suppose you do,” he said, his voice gruff, but full of a meaning, and a promise he could no longer ignore.

\--- --- --- 

**Epilogue**

“Does it always feel like this? Aching?”

Baze chuckled as Chirrut leaned into him, listening as the train rushed off into the distance, now just a memory. “Yes. But it gets easier to bear.”

Chirrut let out a trembling breath, then turned his face up. One hand came up, touching Baze on the side of his face. His fingers scratched at his whiskers. “I think you’ll need to kiss me until the feeling passes.”

Baze chuckled again, low in his throat, voice tight with an affection he hoped would never go away. He tugged Chirrut even closer with a hand at his waist, then pinched his chin to turn his face up. “I think I can do that,” he murmured.

And then he did.


End file.
